All I Want
by ejectingthecore
Summary: Gaila helps Nyota compile a Christmas list. Belated Christmas story. M for yummy mature thoughts.
1. Nyota's Christmas List, chapter 1 of 2

I own nothing Star Trek.

This story written as a gift for outtabreath.

Please note: Outtabreath is a fantastic writer and this story is written as an homage to her style and her Dr. Flenderson series (but not as fitting into that series.) It's a Secret Santa gift for which the prompt was to use the words "Christmas list" and "awkward."

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"Oh, come on Nyota." Gaila pleaded, "You can do me next."

Then interrupted herself. "Dirty me…"

And continued. "Okay, you can write _my list_ next."

She waved a padd at her roommate and settled in, cross-legged on her bed as if waiting for a holo to start. Nyota was draped lazily across her own bed, reading and making notes, sometimes drawing a star alongside her conjugations and declensions. She lifted her head and said tiredly, for the nth time: "I am not writing a Christmas list that starts off with 'Commander Spock.'"

"Starts and _ends_ with, honey, and it's for fun. F. U. N."

Nyota glared. "Trying out for cheerleading?"

Gaila stuck her tongue out, not seductively. "Come on, Nyota. We all know how much you want him—"

"—who all?!—"

"—and how he's brilliant, and has delicious shoulders, and rocks an instructor's uniform like nobody's business…." Gaila kind of trailed off into a reverie involving the Commander lying down to fix a projector at the front of the classroom. His long legs were bent, knees spread just the right amount, and he was kind of writhing around under there trying to reach the offending loose connections. His boots kept slipping on the floor and changing the spatial properties of what she could observe from her seat. Mainly she observed that his pants were virtually painted on. She could see entirely sufficient hints at what was in there. It was, well, yum. She briefly wondered how she could get the job of measuring his inseams. Nyota sure had it right, the man was divine.

She snapped back to reality and the job at hand. The list. "Just give Santa a little nudge."

"N.O."

Gaila waved a stylus over the padd and began to write. "From: Cadet Uhura, Nyota…Dear Santa…"

Nyota groaned and did a faceplant in her bedcovers.

Gaila continued. "I have been very, very good….You've been good, right? Didn't you get, like, an eighty-nine on that last test?"

"Ninety-nine, Gaila."

"Hah, I knew I could get you into the spirit…." She winked at her roomie, and Nyota felt especially duped. Gaila went on writing. "I've been very, very good and got a _ninety_-nine on my last test with Commander Spock, the suckable Vulcan rock star."

Nyota growled at Gaila through clenched teeth, but Gaila was not in the least deterred.

"So here is my list, for your consideration… "

Nyota's deep sigh of annoyance bounced off Gaila like a photon torpedo off shields at 100%.

"One. I want some Vulcan eyes to undress me, down to my soul." She looked up from writing and asked, Why, Nyota?"

Sigh. "Why what?"

"Why the eyes, why are they so great? You need to participate here, Honey. I can't write this entire list _for_ you."

Nyota repeated the question. "Why his eyes?" Gaila made a go-on-go-on sort of motion with her stylus, and Nyota's own eyes veered off into space as she imagined his.

They were the deep and brilliant point in an otherwise completely composed visage. When he was lecturing and he looked up at her, her whole world narrowed to just his eyes. It was probably her imagination, but she thought he sometimes faltered when their eyes caught one another. When she and the Commander talked alone, drinking tea and discussing the debate about phonemic awareness as a teaching tool, his eyes spoke a completely different language. His eyes were those of a man who would take her onto his lap and lick a hot trail up the nape of her neck, who would nuzzle her hair but withhold his kisses. The twinkling eyes of a man who would tease her to death. A man who might whisper in her ear, deeply, velvet-ly, "No, Nyota. Not yet." She shivered imagining his eyes penetrating hers while his fingers clutched her clothing and his voice dripped those words.

"His eyes are black."

Gaila was unimpressed. "Rrrright."

"Seriously black, like ink. Dark. No one has eyes like that."

Gaila took dictation. "Vulcan eyes, black like ink. And, Honey…" She stabbed her stylus in the direction of Nyota's hands, which had a death grip on the bedcovers. "Should I add smoldering? Could bore a smoking hot hole through a bulkhead?"

"Okay, Gaila, I'll admit the eyes are…_nice_…to think about." She pried her claws off the comforter and started smoothing it out nonchalantly. "But really, a Christmas list?" Her roommate stared her down, and Nyota finally realized she was not going to win. She lay back on her pillows, resigned to this activity. "Pretty eyes are not that much to ask for, right?"

Gaila tittered to find that she'd made her roommate drift off into clutching and slobbering, and they were just on item number one. Which led her to…

"Two. Hair. What's up with the hair, Nyota?"

"Huh?"

"Well, his hair is so…"

"Shining. Dark." Nyota kept getting dreamier. "Delicious."

"…Precise?"

She threw a pillow at Gaila. "So, it's precise. So what? He's beautiful, and all I need is enough to get my hands into."

"That's the spirit, Honey. I'm writing that down….Enough hair to grab onto, and as an aside, Santa, please place him frequently in positions where I can reach said hair to grab, for example his face on my stomach, between my trembling legs, on my—"

"—Okay! Enough with that Gaila."

As a matter of fact, the positions all sounded perfect to Nyota, and now she couldn't stop imagining them. If he were in her arms, she'd be able to smell the scent of his hair and do something she'd desperately wanted to do for so long—muss it. But that was playful nonsense compared to Gaila's other suggestions. If he were lying with his head on her stomach, she'd feel his hot breath on her skin, she'd reach down and run her fingers through his raven hair over and over, slowly pushing him toward her navel, where he'd swirl his tongue. If he _were_ between her legs, his adorable ears brushing her skin, she would feel the points against her thighs, and oh…oh…crud. It would feel…unimaginable, actually. Darn it. Even in her dreams, she could not guess what it would feel like to have his tongue working to make her come.

She had to stop.

"Go on, Gaila," she said, blushing hot with lust, "let's get this over with."

"Fine then," Gaila pouted, but she gave her roommate a knowing eye. "What's next?"

By this point Nyota was ready to comply.

"The _Commander_, my instructor mind you and this is totally inappropriate, has the sexiest eyebrows."

"Ah, yes, the eyebrows. Two please, Santa, for me to kiss and lick, especially when he does that thing with just one of them, that cute thing..." Gaila made a little flicking motion with one finger. "And…of course, two pointy ears. They're so lickable too."

Nyota blushed and hid under her remaining pillow.

"Ahhhh, I see, you really like the ears. Wicked girl. I'll bold that part."

Nyota stayed under the pillow.

"And, speaking of lickable, Santa, there are many other items on my list that fit this description. In fact, pretty much everything on the man's body is quite lickable, all wrapped up in a charcoal gray uniform."

"Really?" Nyota peeked out from under her pillow. "I've looked at his uniform a lot…" She smiled. "And I think it's more of a matte black."

"Right. Gray?…Black?…Whatever. Let's just call it licorice and lick the uniform, too."

Nyota gave up her second pillow to throw at her roommate, but Gaila evaded it and kept on task.

"Moving on. What's with you and the pale skin?"

Nyota's mind was now stuck on the idea of actually licking Spock's pants. She tore herself away from the oddly appealing fantasy.

"Gaila, how about his intellect? Can you please take a break from his pants and write down how sexy his brain is?"

"Were we still on his pants?"

Nyota had to admit. "I was."

Gaila feigned shock, then admitted "Alright, alright, he does have that smart, hot, nerd thing going strong…." She tapped the stylus on her voluptuous lips, then scribbled on the padd. "Want. Smart. Nerdhotness."

Nyota gave her a Spock-like eyebrow.

"It's German," said Gaila. "Past century Earth language, which I _know_ you know." She winked at Nyota. "Now then. Back to the anatomy. How about his jaw line?"

"That is most definitely on the list, yes," Nyota hugged herself. "Talk about lickable. Sigh. I really could just bite it and lick it all day." She lolled on her pillow-less bed, imagining what his taste would be like, what his smooth skin would feel like in her mouth. She imagined that soft skin over his hard bones as she nipped at him. He would groan and push his chin into her bites. Uh oh, at the thought of Spock vocalizing, Nyota felt a thrill shoot through her and her panties got wet. Damn his groaning nerdhotness.

"That's the spirit!" Gaila seemed pleased. "Nippable jaw line."

Nyota continued, now of her own free will. "And his pouting mouth, he doesn't ever really quite close it." She imagined his mouth was just waiting to be stuffed with her tongue, but she didn't share this image with Gaila, not on her life. "And his lips are so pink and warm looking, they make a little heart shape…." She trailed off when she noticed Gaila staring at her and smirking.

Gaila wrote, "Santa, I want the mouth." Then continued writing, "And also the broad shoulders, the slinky hips, the longest legs in the universe, that tight little ass."

"Are you really writing this all down?!" Nyota protested, "And more to the point, you've been looking at him!"

Gaila made an exaggerated O with her mouth, and then put her hands up like she was being held at phaser point. "Calm down, girl, everybody in Starfleet, of all species and most sexes, has looked at him. He is one hell of a biped."

"Ok, then," Nyota was appeased. "You see what I mean."

"Yes, yes I do…." Then she wrote on the padd, "Santa, please make him mine only. I don't like when I find out the other girls are looking at him."

Nyota was out of pillows to swat Gaila with.

"Now, Nyota, it's time to really get down to business. Santa is a busy man, y'know."

"Yessss…." Nyota wasn't sure what to expect next.

"Well, do you really want the Commander? Want _all_ of him?"

"Damn, Gaila, do I ever. You know I want all of him…"

Though what all of him might be like, Nyota didn't know. She could imagine his tight ass without those licorice pants, what it might look like were he to…say….pound into her, moving those hips so…so….the way the long legs would look in the half light of the moon in her window. She could picture his chest, his jacket ripped open and black shirt thrown off, so broad and luscious.

But when it came to Vulcan sex, and even more simply Vulcan anatomy, she was virtually ignorant. And not because she hadn't researched the topic, she thought sheepishly. It was just, there wasn't that much out there. Vulcans were damn private and she wondered if he would really do the things to her that she imagined, or if he'd do some alien hotness on her that she couldn't even conjure up in a million years.

She wondered, of course,_ often _wondered about his body. Being half Vulcan and half Human and thus singular in all the universe, the possibilities were numerous. When she was in bed, late in the night, with her hands under the sheets, she imagined Spock peeling his clothes off—okay, here in her dorm room, which seemed stupid, but that's where it always happened in her dreams. He'd take off the jacket, drop it to the floor. Never taking his eyes off hers, he would push his pants down soooooo slowly, and…then…What would he look like? She assumed he was pretty much like a Human male. She assumed she could get him into her mouth—a special dream of hers. She wanted to kneel between his legs. He could just sit here on the edge of her bed, spread his knees wide so she could get between them, and…oh…..dear……Would he like it? Duh. Males all like it. Right?

Never mind. She went back to him simply standing right there in her room, nude and resplendent, an idea of him she'd built in her mind, based on the evidence afforded by his perfectly fitted uniform. Her imaginary Spock had a most delicious erection.

Gaila's stylus was raised, but she lowered it and said, "Y'know, I changed my mind… We can leave that item off….Or, well…off the _list_."

Nyota had a feeling she knew just the item to which Gaila referred, and she was all for leaving it off the list. She admitted the man was holy hot, but lying in her bed imagining his penis and writing it on a list seemed a teensy bit desperate and kind of stalkerish. Still, she had to ask. Maybe Gaila had some insight into the…matter. If anyone would know about alien anatomy, it was her delightful roommate. "About the item were you thinking of…"

Gaila tossed one of the pillows back to Nyota. "You might need this to throw at me."

Nyota pre-glared at her.

Gaila continued. "Well, Santa's a smart guy. I don't think you really need to list 'one green penis' specifically."

Nyota covered her ears and kicked her legs all over the bed. "La la la la, I didn't even hear you say that," but inside, her mind was screaming _Green Penis!_

Gaila began to sing.

_I just want him for my own._

_More than he will ever know._

_I just want green cock…._

_All I want for Christmas is Spock._

Nyota did throw the pillow again, harder than ever, and both girls laughed until they were in pain. Gaila breathlessly concluded, "Alrighty then, your list is complete! Thank you, Santa, blah blah blah. I will take delivery in my bed on the evening of Earth calendar December 24, 2256. Sincerely, Nyota Uhura." She wrote some more. "p.s. I can translate this list into any of several languages if it helps my case… "

Nyota thought of Spock delivered to her bed, thought of him in several languages. Her reverie was interrupted by the most terrifying words Gaila had ever uttered.

"Encode for delivery to Commander Spock."

Nyota's head whipped up, suddenly gravely serious. "No. Gaila. Don't even joke about that."

Gaila's stylus was raised over the padd, and she looked at Nyota from under her curly hair and raised one red eyebrow.

Nyota dove for the padd.

Gaila tried to evade her, but Nyota was quick and determined, and she grabbed for the device--and found her finger in precisely the wrong place at the wrong time.

It was done.

The screen said SENT.

Both girls stared at the word in stark disbelief. The blood drained out of Nyota's face. It was very quiet in their room. After a very still, very hopeless moment, Gaila broke the silence.

"Oops." She said, soooooo not helpfully.

"_That's_ going to be awkward."

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Note: Spock's response will come next!


	2. Spock's Response, chapter 2 of 2

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Spock was packing his clothing when his padd alerted him to an incoming message. He was preparing to leave for Vulcan, taking time off of his teaching schedule concurrent with the Earth holidays known as Christmas and New Year's Day. It being Earth calendar December 22, most Cadets were already gone. However, some had stayed on campus, catching up on studying and leaving at the last minute for their trips to visit family.

So it was surprising, but not impossible, that he was contacted by one of his students. A most intriguing student. He flushed hot inside when he saw her name on the incoming message, and he probed his thoughts like one might a wound, because he already knew why her name elicited that response. He already knew how appalling, illogical, and uncontrollable his feelings were for this particular student. In short, he wanted her body and soul. He had successfully hidden these feelings from her for months, though he did not always successfully hide them from himself.

He was going to wait a reasonable number of minutes. One minute. He picked up the padd immediately.

_From: Cadet Uhura, Nyota_ _  
To: Commander, Spock_ _  
_  
It was addressed to him, but the salutation indicated someone else.

_Dear Santa,_ _  
_  
Spock was disoriented. He recalled the name Santa, and he spent a moment searching through his memory until he found it. His mother's delight over Christmas, and her tale of a man who flew in a sled and brought presents to all children, everywhere, on a single night. An obviously impossible feat. If he was not mistaken, that night was, according to the Earth calendar, December 24, just two days away.

Why, though, did Cadet Uhura-Nyota, as he knew her from spending long hours talking and, he thought with another hot blush, appreciating one another's company-send him a message intended for a fictional character? When he read the next line his head shot up and his eyebrows came together.  
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I've been very, very good and got a ninety-nine on my last test with Commander Spock, the suckable Vulcan rock star._ _  
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He was Vulcan, that much was at least half true. He did not understand the use of the term "rock star" in relation to himself. But he did know what suckable meant, and he spent a moment considering how and why he might be described as suitable to be taken in the mouth and drawn upon. Nothing reasonable occurred to him, but some of the unreasonable things that did come to mind were shameful, indecent, and very appealing. He shifted on the bed, working out a situation that had developed in his pants.

He had difficulty reading more, yet could not tear himself away.

_So here is my list, for your consideration. In re: Commander Spock, I want:_

_1. Vulcan eyes to undress me, down to my soul. Eyes black like ink._ _  
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Spock was not entirely knowledgeable of Human idioms, and he was sure at the moment that he was not understanding something critical. How can one's eyes undress a person? More to the point, Cadet Uhura had written a list of items she desired in regards to him. Was it a prank? He considered the possibility and discarded it. Despite his very limited understanding of Earth humor, he knew instinctively that Nyota would not consider such a thing amusing.

That left him still at a loss for her motivation. To create such a list, let alone deliver it, was odd and intriguing. She listed black Vulcan eyes as a desired Christmas gift, and his own matched the description. Furthermore, as far as he was aware, the Cadet did not know any other Vulcans. His thoughts on the matter were thrilling and required further consideration. He continued to read.

_2. Hair Shining. Dark. Delicious. Enough to grab onto. (Santa, please place him in positions where I can reach said hair to grab.)_ _  
_  
Again, Spock flushed with copper blood and bashfulness. This listed item was obviously about _his_ hair, and her accompanying, parenthetical request made his penis do unexpected things, the phrase "place him in positions" being perhaps the most provocative he'd ever heard. This item clearly suggested she had a sexual interest in him. That she might return his affections was something he deeply desired, though he could not have imagined receiving confirmation of her mutual regard via a "Christmas list." No matter. The form of delivery was of no consequence. He read on eagerly.

_3. The eyebrows, to kiss and lick, especially when he does that cute thing with just one of them._ _  
_  
And so he did.

_4. __**Pointy ears**__. They're so lickable, too._ _  
_  
He virtually _felt_ himself turn a deep, deep green, his ears being an item of great sensitivity, both socially and physically. The thought of Nyota observing them made him shiver. The thought of her tiny, wet tongue touching them made his head spin, and he had to unfasten his pants.

_5. In fact, all lickable parts of his body are hereby included on this list. Including but not limited to his broad shoulders, slinky hips, long legs, tight ass._ _  
_  
He knew he was considered aesthetically pleasing in the case of some of these body parts. However, he had never before heard his hips described in any way, let alone "slinky." This word had never come up in any conversation in his life, so he took six seconds to cross-reference it with a 21st century English dictionary. He hoped he had not miscommunicated with his body, as he did not mean for his hips to appear furtive or stealthy, though how he might control how his hips appeared was an unanswered question. Upon one more second of study, he found an informal meaning of the word was sleek and graceful. He found this definition _nearly_ as absurd in regard to his hips, but he assumed it was her intended meaning.

Once this was established, he stopped dead. Caught up in the definition of slinkiness, he felt that he might have missed one or two key words. His eyes were drawn back to item 5 and he re-read it twice to be sure he understood.

He had to banish the mental image of Nyota licking his ass or he would lose consciousness.

_6. Even his perfectly fitted pants._ _  
_  
He took a moment off of being aroused, to be utterly confused. Did she wish to run her tongue along his trousers? This seemed oddly acceptable. He looked down at said pants and was intrigued to find his penis was in his hand.

_7. Want. Smart. Nerdhotness._ _  
_  
Ah, he knew about this phenomenon among Human women. In this area, he could definitely deliver.

_8. Nippable jaw line._ _  
_  
Indeed his lower jaw was sharply defined and likely easily accessed to bite. This had not occurred to him before, nor would it ever had occurred to him if Nyota hadn't requested it from Santa. At the thought of her biting his face, he gripped himself tightly and his hand began to move of its own volition.

_9. Santa, I want the mouth._ _  
_  
She wanted his mouth.

If she had ever made such a broad statement in class he would have pushed her to refine and add detail. In this case, she was not present and his only recourse was to review this sentence's possible meanings on his own and discern the most likely among them.

He gripped and stroked as he enumerated. Nyota had often shown signs of appreciation while watching him speak in various languages. Perhaps she enjoyed the movement of his lips when he formed plosives and bilabial clicks. He pictured her watching him demonstrate alien words, then trying to speak them herself, licking her soft lips in the process.

Or perhaps she considered his mouth aesthetically pleasing. His lips were nearly symmetrical and pale pink; the color stood out from his otherwise greenish complexion. He had heard them once described as sexy by a woman who did not think he could hear her. Perhaps Nyota wanted to look at them. His hand moved with increasing speed as he thought of Nyota simply watching his mouth move. That she might want to _touch_ his lips, for example with the tip of a finger, was his next thought, and he moaned and squeezed.

He moved on to additional potentialities. All had to be considered. Therefore, it was--in theory--possible she wanted _his_ mouth to touch _her_ in some way. He had difficulty imagining how her skin might taste, and how it might feel as he slid along it with his tongue. Though sometimes, often, of course without any empirical information, he dreamt of what one of her breasts might be like in his mouth. He had observed her breasts, surreptitiously and he sincerely hoped discreetly. He found them to be intriguingly shaped and sized, rounded but not globular, small enough to please his sense of order and control, yet large enough that they might yield under pressure from fingers or lips. His hand was compelled to pump his penis now unreservedly. He had no choice.

_10. Santa, please make him mine only. I don't like when I find out the other girls are looking at him._ _  
_  
The thought of Nyota wanting him at all, let alone wanting him to exclusively belong to her, made him ache with disbelieving pleasure. It was so heartbreakingly sweet it nearly broke his concentration and rhythm. But not quite.

Her list concluded:

_Thank you, Santa. I will take delivery in my bed on the evening of Earth calendar December 24, 2256._ _  
_  
He conjured up a mental image of lying in her bed, on his side to face her, nude, erect, against her coveted skin, entwined, slick. With a gasp, he shot semen all over his clothing.

He was entranced and sat, dumb, for a long moment. Then as if waking from a deep sleep, he focused his gaze and saw what he had done. Masturbating was not something he engaged in often, and he was surprised at himself. Masturbating over an electronic message from one of his students was not only inappropriate and condemnable, it was "creepy." At the same time, thinking of Nyota in sexual terms elicited a response most natural and positive, and he desired to adore her body, not defile it. Since they clearly felt mutual sexual desire and since, after all, _she_ had written to _him_, his response, while not praiseworthy, had been morally acceptable. And that was good enough for him.

The message ended with a postscript.

_I can translate this list into any of several languages if it helps my case…_ _  
_  
Spock imagined Nyota delivering this list in person, in Standard, Andorian, Klingon, Tutu, or any language she wished. Thinking of her speaking this list in _Vulcan_ made his penis twitch in the sticky hand that still held it, and he worked to wipe away thoughts of her mellifluous voice, her small mouth, making the sounds of his home language. Why he did not know. Why would it be wrong to think about her mouth forming the words, telling him in person that she desired him? Was it so wrong to feel something developing in his mind? Or in his hands?

He would not do it. Not now. He subdued his body. Masturbating over her message again would not be reprehensible--completing the action once was as bad as twice and he might as well enjoy himself. But it was something he would not allow himself to do, only because it would waste time.

He wanted to minimize the number of minutes that might pass before he could reach her across campus and deliver himself two days early.

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Happy birthday, outtabreath! Hugs and kisses, etc._


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